First Impressions
by timeywimeyspaceywacey
Summary: It's often said you should never judge a book, or a city, by it's cover. Booker DeWitt does that anyway. A one-shot detailing his first thoughts on Columbia.


_A one-shot dedicated to my good friend, IAMALurker and our long conversation on how creepy all of these Comstock nuts are. It is also dedicated to Alone in the blight, who encouraged me to branch out and try something new. :)_

* * *

I had just trudged through a somewhat dilapidated, trashed lighthouse. I had carefully stepped over the food and broken china on the floor.

I had given the briefest of glances to the bloody handprint on the wall leading up the stairs. I had muttered a quick, furtive "shit" out loud to myself when I stumbled across the bloodied, tortured and very obviously dead body strapped to a chair.

I had rung some a series of bells and watched with my mouth hanging open as the sky lit up with reds and oranges, a deep foghorn like sound penetrating through the sky, drowning out the rumbles of thunder and the cracks of lightning.

I had brushed all of this aside with a shrug before climbing into a chair, muttering some curses to myself as I was strapped in and the walls closed in around me and I was shot upwards into the heavens, only to have my mouth hang open in shock once again as the craft I was in drifted over a floating city in the sky.

All in all, it was a little strange. It was all a little shocking and unnerving, to be honest. But I'm Booker DeWitt, goddammit. I adjust quickly.

The metal cuffs snapped off my wrists with a loud _click_ and I quickly stood, rubbing at my wrists as I surveyed my surroundings. After floating over the city, the craft I was in had landed, descending downwards before depositing me in a room with water covering the floor, hundreds of little white candles burning dimly, and what appeared to be some sort of large stained glass mural on the wall directly in front of me. Stepping out of the craft, I slogged through the water, scratching at my chin as I inspected the brightly lit glass in front of me. A formidable looking fellow with a white beard was standing before a crowd, pointing boldly towards a floating object in the sky. Everyone around him looked pretty damn impressed.

"And the prophet shall lead the people to a new Eden," I mumbled to myself. I turned to my right, and saw nothing but a dead end. After looking to my left, I noticed some more words emblazoned above a passageway. "The seed of the prophet…heh."

I set off, splashing and stomping through the short passage towards the massive statue with open arms that was beckoning me forward, as though it was offering me an embrace. I ignored it, instead considering what a shitty idea it was to cover a floor with water. Goddamn boots were soaked.

Pausing, I caught sight of a man in white robes standing near another arched doorway. _Robes? A gown? A dress? I wonder what he calls 'em_, I silently wondered as I approached him. "Excuse me," I called out, waving my hand to get his attention. "Where am I?"

"Heaven, friend," the man called out to me, his rich timbre echoing throughout the stone chamber, gesturing down towards the stone steps to his left. "Or, as close as we'll get to it before judgment day."

I sighed, annoyed at the cryptically vague non-answer. _Must be a reason for not sayin'. Better keep my mouth shut and quit askin' questions like that. Unless I want to get made, that is._ I gave him a nod of thanks as I passed by, but he had already shut his eyes and had begun to pray, gently swaying back and forth as he lowered his head, humming his quiet entreat. I shook it off as I set down the stairs he had been posted by. I couldn't quite place my finger on it, but something about this place wasn't right, and despite my feeling to just push it aside, I couldn't.

More stained glass windows, and only one slip on the slick, wet stone stairs later, my short journey through the spiral passage had ended, and I found myself standing at the entrance of a massive room. Thousands more candles were alight, and the quiet thrum of voices in prayer met my eyes and ears, as well as the loud voice of a preacher at the far end that carried well throughout the large space.

I had ignored him as I continued slogging forward, my mind focused on the tiny, niggling feeling that something in this place just wasn't quite right. My legs created gentle waves of water as I continued forward, glancing from side to side as I took in the strange, white-clad figures to either side, still unable to shake the feeling off. It was taking me a little longer than usual to get used to this place, probably because every time I turned the corner, there was a new, strange little surprise waiting for me.

Probably.

_Off. Something is off here, and in a big fuckin' way. Fuckin' creepy._

A large group of white figures huddled in prayer were grouped around the man excitedly preaching, and as I reached them, I unceremoniously jostled my way through the throng, arriving so that I was standing in front of the crowd. I was directly in the black-robed man's line of vision, and I stood waiting with my arms folded over my chest. _Hopefully this man'll tell me how to get out of this place. _

"Ah," he said, gesturing to me with a grand flourish. "Are you newly come to Columbia to be washed clean of your sins before our Prophet, our Founders, and our Lord?"

"No," I replied, giving him a dismissive wave. "No thanks, I'll pass. I just need passage into the city, that's all. How can I get into the city?"

The man chuckled, shaking his head. "Passage into the city? Oh, Brother. The only way into Columbia is through rebirth in the sweet, sweet waters of baptism," he said, outstretching his arms towards the water. Towards me. "Will you be cleansed, Brother?" he suddenly bellowed, the slight waver in his voice betray his excitement.

I whipped around, staring back down towards the path I had taken to this point, disturbed by the blank, glassy stares of the worshippers around me. I turned back towards the preacher with a loud, prolonged sigh. _Passage into the fuckin' city_, I mentally grumbled. _That's all I wanted. One simple thing, to just get out of this creepy place and into the city. That's all. I suppose this is my only option, though. There's work to be done._

"Come and be cleansed," the preacher called out again, wiggling the fingers of the hand he had offered to me. I stepped forward with a loud, audible groan. I wanted him to know just how much I didn't want to do this. He clasped my hand, his firm grip squeezing my fingers together tightly.

I had mumbled an irritated 'hey', but before I could give another sigh of annoyance at being required to undergo this process, he had launched into a spiel of how he was baptizing me in the name of the Prophet, the Founders, the Lord…or something like that. His spare hand had gripped my forehead and I had been smashed down underneath the water. I opened my mouth to protest, solely out of instinct, but all that came out was a choked, panicked gurgle.

The preacher man yanked me upwards and I gasped as the sweet air flooded my lungs. _That wasn't so horrible_, I decided quickly.

I had apparently decided too soon, as he called out again, asking those standing before him if I looked 'clean' enough. _Shit, I am! Just let me go!_

I was submerged again, this time for longer and despite my attempts to struggle and break free, everything slowly, gradually faded to the inky black of unconsciousness.

* * *

I awoke coughing and sputtering, after being out for fuck knows how long. I shot up in the water so that I was in a sitting position. _The apartment, New York, burning, shit_, was what immediately came to me as I came to my senses, and I whipped my head from side to side frantically, gradually calming down. I blinked, running a hand over my faces, wiping the water from my eyes.

I was outside in the city that I had been so desperately seeking entrance to. It wasn't burning. I hadn't been in my apartment. It had all just been a dream. _Nightmare, more like. _I glanced up as I clambered to my feet, taking in the statues of the Founding Fathers circled around the pond that I had somehow made my way into.

Trudging through the water, I set off towards the city, giving the briefest of glances to the white figures bowing and worshipping before the statues of the Founders. The strange welcome, if it could even be called that, I had received flashed through my memory for several seconds, and a strange, unsettling chill raced down my spine. The city, despite all of its apparent loveliness, grandeur, and magnificence, was dark, was unsettling, and was wrong. That was all an obvious given. I had been here for mere minutes, and I already knew that much.

As I stomped the water off my boots, I pushed it all aside, already over the odd little welcome I had received. I'm Booker DeWitt, dammit, and I always adjust, no matter how strange things may get.

* * *

_Thanks so much for reading! I truly appreciate it. This is my first submission to the Bioshock fandom. This was just a little one-shot bouncing around in my mind after I began my second play through. The welcome to Columbia is pretty freaking creepy, right? This was done while I hit writer's block with my Elder Scrolls stories. If anyone expresses interest, I'd definitely be down to do more here. Thanks again!_


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